


Closed Doors

by TailgatesHarem



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, It ends hopefully I swear, M/M, Major Spoilers, Post-Episode: e049 Old Oak Doors Part B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 10:16:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1895286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TailgatesHarem/pseuds/TailgatesHarem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil's reaction after the end of 49B. Please, I beg, do not read this if you've not listened to 49B. You will understand nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closed Doors

The war, at the very least, was postponed. Sighs of relief echoed across the town of Night Vale. Former intern Dana had been named current Mayor. There was so much to celebrate. Kevin had disappeared, the old management had returned--that could be good, people aren't sure yet--and the old oak doors with brass nobs had vanished. So much to be happy about... so much. 

Cecil nearly skipped home. Citizens were outside celebrating, hugging each other and chanting various names, heroes or not. Tamika and various Ericas no longer had to hide. The world, slowly, but sure, was coping with a new reality. One with angels and comforting darkness. Familiarity no longer bred contempt. 

The lights of Cecil's home flicked on as he dropped his coat on the couch with a sigh. His heart was light and all he could think about was listening to Carlos' voice on the voice mail and inviting him over. The doors were closed, people were safe. 

However, Cecil Gershwin Palmer, subversive radio host, could not be out and about celebrating with a light heart and drinks of various substances and flavors. Instead, dreary eyed, Cecil put the kettle on. His body felt heavy as he waited for the water to boil. Realizing how long it had been since he'd last had anything to eat he began heating some leftovers. It was too late in the night to make new food and Rico's was too far away. 

Just as the microwave's bell dinged a sort of Pavlovian effect washed over Cecil. 

"Right, the voice mail." 

Cecil began playing the message, fingers deftly clicking the speaker button while he prepared the tea. He really wished that he could have taken the call for himself. Sure, it was during the show, but Carlos... perfect Carlos... he was above all else. 

_Cecil, hey. Um, it’s Carlos._

_I– I– I hate that I got your voice mail, but listen, I figured it out._

Of course Carlos figured it out. Smart, brilliant, and perfect: there wasn't a doubt in Cecil's mind that the scientist couldn't. But it was painful for them both. For some reason the universe did not want him taking that call during the show. Carlos was never meant to say these words to a live listener, it seemed. Perhaps it would have made things too difficult. Who knew? 

_So, we can’t shut the oak doors unless everyone is back where they belong. And every moment those doors are open, more of that light gets through into Night Vale. I couldn't figure out why we couldn't just keep the doors closed for good, and it was **really frustrating**  to have a problem I couldn't solve. And then I got sad, because I couldn't solve it. But then I did solve it, and I felt so happy! So those are some – but not all – of the emotions that I had._

_Here is what I found. Night Vale is a place that is difficult to leave, and difficult to enter, and connecting a place as weird as that with a place as weird as this was causing a lot of…strain on linear time and space. So…those native to Night Vale, Dana, John, the angry woman in the Intern shirt, all had to return home, and the masked army all had to come back here, which they did. Just moments ago, the last of them came back through the door._

_It is so exciting when you make a scientific discovery like that! I was very happy!_

Carlos was always excited. To him, something scientific was truly remarkable. It was his passion to know the insides and outs of something new. So, crossing the threshold of the house that did not exist must have been a sensation of curiosity like no other. How fun for him... 

_But then, as the last of the masked army members came through the door, it slammed shut and vanished. And I remembered that I am not from Night Vale._

_I remembered that, as far as the laws of the universe are concerned, it is not where I belong._

Suddenly Cecil's attentiveness became acute. He was hanging on to every word. Where was Carlos going with this...?

_Cecil, I don’t even remember how I got to Night Vale in the first place. I mean, where **is**  Night Vale, even? But I promise I will find a way back. It’ll just take a couple of days, a week max._

A... a week? Where was he? 

_I’ll be fine. I’m a scientist._

_Cecil? A scientist is usually fine._

_Maybe a few weeks, I don’t know._

"A few weeks?" Cecil inadvertently jumped, gripping his phone tightly in his hands. His shoulders were shaking as he braced himself against the counter. Weeks... weeks? He heard everyone got out okay. Was it that he was too happy to ask where Carlos was and headed home before anyone could answer or was it that people didn't care? Surely his science team would have said something, right? Or... did they not know...?  

_The upside is Dana was right. I have had 97% battery all day, and decent reception! So we’ll at least get to talk every night._

_Best of luck at home. I love you._

A stone had grown in Cecil's throat. His heart felt hollow as he grabbed the tea cup and began walking out of the kitchen. Hands shaking so badly, the cup slipped right out of his hands. He cursed, teeth gritting as the ceramic shards scattered across the linoleum floor. Maybe it was the violent quiet in the house or the shock of the cup splintering into tiny shards, but something brought Cecil to his knees. The floor was soaked in soothing chamomile and honey, a sleepy sweetness similar to Carlos' colorful laughter. And now... it seemed so distant. 

Picking himself up, Cecil walked quietly to the bedroom, not turning on another light. He shut the door behind him--not an old oak one with an ornate brass nob--and slumped down onto the bed. He pulled his cellphone from his pocket and stared at its bright screen for a long moment. His thick black glasses weighed heavy on his face, hands pulling them away and tucking them into his shirt pocket. He felt absent from the present as Carlos certainly was. 

Barely making a sound, Cecil curled into the bed, setting the phone beside him. He deftly moved his fingers and clicked replay. Carlos' voice echoed through the darkness. Cheerfully uncertain, Carlos told the tale of how he figured the world worked. He was not of Night Vale. But then again, where was Night Vale? Who truly belonged in the strange, inexplicable world? 

Tears brimming in his lavender eyes, Cecil tried fighting the ache in his heart. But it was too much. The sobs came through gritted teeth and hot cheeks. It was hard, pretending it didn't hurt. The pain was overwhelming, like a wave crashing down over a tiny boat in a storm. The night was filled with agonizing stillness and the repeating echo of Carlos' distant explanations of his own absence. 

"Weeks... max," Cecil whispered, eyes suddenly heavy with sleep. "Max..." 

 

 

Dana's feet shuffled on the doorstep of her former boss. She was Mayor now. An incredible responsibility and it required many skills: business smarts, interpersonal skills, compassion, and intuition. And right at that moment, one in the afternoon the day after the victory for Night Vale, Dana knew something was very wrong. Cecil is the type of person to be truly dedicated to his work. Day and night he could be found at the studio, preparing stories or playing with Khoshekh. However, come mid-afternoon, no one had seen him. 

Throwing her shoulders back and taking a deep breath, Dana knocked on Cecil's door again. More minutes passed in silence and she began to feel an itch at the back of her neck as if someone was watching her. It must have looked strange from an onlooker's point of view. A girl, knocking on Cecil's door without doing much else. Rather strange indeed. 

Finally, determinedly, Dana rapped her knuckles on the door until they went numb with pain. Cecil was home, she just knew it. 

"Cecil Gershwin Palmer, I implore you to open this door right now!" She shouted, which, in all actuality, wasn't really that loud. "Cecil? Cecil, please, I just--," she began again as the door handle turned slowly, sluggishly. Her eyes watched curiously as the door cracked a few inches. From the gap between the threshold and the door Dana could see one weary lavender eye looking through square, dirty glasses. A flop of purple hair hung in its gaze, blonde strange mixing in with the rich dyed shade. "Cecil...?" 

"Morning, Dana... Ah, Mayor Cardinal," he corrected himself as he stood as straight as he could, opening the door a little wider. 

Dana could see now that Cecil was wrapped up in his duvet, clothes disheveled and hair an utter mess. His eyes, striking and beautiful, were rimmed in red as if he... had he been crying? 

"It's... nearly two in the afternoon. Gosh, Cecil, you..." She murmured, not sure where to begin. "Are you okay?" 

"I must admit that I have been better," he nodded, not addressing his unfamiliarity with times of days. "Would you like the come in." 

The shuffle through the door was awkward and more than uncomfortable. Dana tried to stay clear of the train leading behind Cecil in the form of a fluffy, tangled duvet. He walked to the kitchen and looked down curiously at something. It was a black tea cup that was, by all other definitions, completely fine. He stared at it for a long while and touched the floor as if something was different. Then, dismissing it, Cecil set the cup on the counter. 

"Cecil, I must be the one to ask... did something happen?" Dana asked, lips pursing in concern. It was very... un-Cecil like, this aimless depression. 

The radio host opened his mouth for a moment before shaking his head. There wasn't anything logical he could say, was there? Dana simple understood, approaching the tall man and taking the duvet from his shoulders. Beneath it something was altogether amiss about him. Unlike his normal self, Cecil was not standing tall with a warm smile. His frame was practically limp, body moving listlessly. It was very sad to see him so out of sorts. 

"Come, take a seat," Dana ushered, guiding her friend to a chair at the kitchen table. She folded the blanket and left to put it back in the bedroom. When she pressed the warm comforter on the bed she saw that Cecil's phone was playing a message from Carlos on repeat. She paused for a moment, listening to his words. Then the pieces came together. She reached across the bed and cut the phone off. Cecil did not need to hear the echos of something so painful. 

When Dana returned to the kitchen she held herself with new understanding. She began preparing a fresh pot of coffee and tiding the kitchen. Cecil needed as much help as he could get. Finally, quarters neat enough to please the new mayor, Dana turned to her friend. "Cecil, I heard the message... there is not much I can say to provide comfort, I'm afraid. However, I can assure you that where Carlos is presents no threat to him. For however long he is there, wherever that place is, you may rest easy knowing that he is safe." 

"But I don't want him safe there... I want him here," Cecil's voice nearly cracked, wiping tears away with the back of his hand. 

Dana sighed, shaking her head and wrapping her arms warmly around her friend. She hated seeing people in such a state of grief. However, there was cause. Who knew if or when Carlos would return. There was only quiet uncertainty. 

 

 

When Dana left she did so after ordering take out for Cecil. She knew he wouldn't eat unless it was already ready to eat. When Big RIco's pizza arrived Cecil took a seat on the couch, sitting the box on his knees and beginning to eat the entire thing. When in emotional turmoil there was no need for calorie counting, Cecil thought to himself as he sat in silence. 

Just when he was about to turn on the radio a book fell off the mantle. Apathy winning over him, Cecil left the book on the ground. Some force displeased, another book fell to the ground, more forcefully this time. Grumpy, the man stood and picked the books off the ground. He placed them back on the mantle and returned to the couch to fulfill his desire to fit a gluttonous stereotype. Then, just as he got comfy again five books clattered to the floor. Finally frustrated Cecil shoved the pizza aside and got up to move the books out of the way, but on the floor. They couldn't fall if they were already on the ground, right? 

However, something was protruding from one of the books. It was a note written on a folded coffee filter. Squinting at it, Cecil unfolded the message. 

_I'm sorry for knocking the books off the shelf. I know you're grieving at the moment. It must be quiet the inconvenience. I would just like to let you know that I fixed your cup last night. It had somehow broken and fallen into my plane of existence. It was actually quite easy, fixing it. However, you are now out of Krazy Glue. Do not break more ceramics as I will not be able to mend them._

This message was entirely unprecedented. Who had even written them? And how did they know he was depressed? And yet, almost as if someone had heard his thoughts, the rest of the books held similar notes. 

_I should have mentioned that it is I, the faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home, that wrote the last letter and all following it._

_Also, I cleaned up the spilled tea for you. The dirty rag is in the washing machine. It was a checkered rag I found under the sink. I hope that it wasn't in any way significant or special. And it was just tea, after all._

_In addition, I am not here to wish you ill-will. I heard of what happened to Carlos. Despite your thoughts implying that I am here on a malevolent mission of terrorizing you, I am only here like always. I ate one of your dryer sheets. I apologize. It was fruity smelling. I mistook it for a fruit roll up._

_But to the point. You have no need to worry. Carlos, the one you grieve, is fine. In fact, we have recently crossed paths. He seems to be relatively new to navigating a fairly vague surface of existence. I think he may be stuck in the laundry room of your home. Oh... wait... no he's made it to your room. He is safe. As for corporeal existing, I'm not quite sure. Best of luck, the soon to be mayor despite any previous notions._

Cecil rushed to the bedroom. It was empty and nothing was different, but he clung to hope that, through another dimension, Carlos was there. He sat on the bed and closed his eyes. "Weeks... max," Cecil whispered, smiling through tears that ran down the sides of his cheeks. "Weeks."

**Author's Note:**

> I took Carlos' voice mail from a fan transcript you can find at cecilspeaks.tumblr.com. There you can find all the episodes in Transcript format for those who are unable to properly enjoy WTNV in audio format.


End file.
